


Decanting

by chiquita2311



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archie Andrews Being an Idiot, Attempt at Humor, Caring!Betty, Clueless Archie Andrews, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, So just Regular!Betty, Underage Drinking, drunk!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:07:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12328899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiquita2311/pseuds/chiquita2311
Summary: When Fred goes out of town for the weekend, Archie sees it as the perfect opportunity for a little misbehaviour with Jughead. This is the aftermath, and the only one capable of picking up the devastation? That would be Betty, of course.





	Decanting

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever Bughead work, and my first ever creative piece for that matter really. As such, I'm very open to constructive criticism but also please bear with me because there will definitely be numerous mistakes throughout especially tense changes.

“So I told him, I said, "Arch, we've got to get my boot off the roof, or someone's gonna get hurt" and that's when you saw us." Jughead reasoned, or a least he thought he did.

 

"No Jug, I saw you when you yelled out to me in my bedroom while you were hanging halfway out Archie's window and almost gave me a heart attack. It’s a miracle you didn’t wake up my mother," Betty huffed as she closed the trailer door behind them, while also trying to keep Jughead's heavy arm around her shoulder, and by extension Jughead off the ground.

 

"Jug, don't you think it's more likely that you or Archie could've gotten hurt climbing onto the roof while drunk, rather than your shoe falling off the roof and hitting someone in the head?" Even as she spoke, Betty knew it was useless; Jughead, being a less than keen drinker in the first place had had, by the looks of the almost empty whiskey decanters on Archie's bedroom floor, far too much to even follow their conversation, much less the logic in her argument.

 

Getting him out of the truck had been an ordeal in itself. He seemed adamant that the cab of FP's old Chevy was good enough for the night. As much as Betty usually loved his long limbs, she found herself cursing the half foot he had on her that made it almost impossible to manoeuvre him inside the trailer without his cooperation.

 

The notion that Jughead was far too comfortable sleeping in places that were decidedly not beds had flashed through her mind, but she quickly quashed the thought. Focusing instead on the present, in which she insisted the boy drunk at least two big glasses of water before heading to bed. When he had finished wiping his mouth on the back of his corduroy sleeve, Betty ordered him to remove his jacket.

 

At that, Jughead wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly, coming over to wrap his arms around her, resting his hands on the small of her back, over her coat.

 

"Well, well, well. Miss Cooper, I do declare, I had no idea you were such a rapscallion!" His attempt at a southern accent was matched only in ridiculousness by his heightened pitch, the result sounding more like Julia Child than Vivien Leigh.

 

Despite it all, Betty found herself smiling and rolling her eyes at his antics. Trust Jughead to call someone a rapscallion while drunk.

 

"Alright Miss O'Hara, let's get you bed before I end up not giving a damn."

 

 

 

Jughead decided mid-journey to his bedroom that he simply could not continue with only one shoe, becoming determined, against all logic, to toe off his last remaining boot. In the battle between his inebriation and body weight versus Betty's steadying arms, Jug ultimately lost, toppling over into the hallway.

In the process of falling onto his back, Jughead's boot, which had only made it halfway off his foot, went flying as he tried to save himself. Its trajectory headed straight for Betty who luckily had the reflexes to dodge the projectile but not to prevent herself from falling flat on her ass in the effort to do so.

 

Jughead, winded and laughing, was repeatedly apologizing between giggles. Betty tried and failed to remain stern, breaking into a defeated chuckle; the action could have come straight from a Chaplin film.

 

 

It was funny until she heard Jughead's voice break. It was funny until she realized, on the last "sorry" the shaking laughter had turned to whimpers, wracking his form on the floor.

 

"Hey, hey, Jug?" she asked, startled by his abrupt shift. "What happened, did you hurt yourself?"

 

He shook his head, trying to hide his face from her in his sleeve.

 

Through the sleeve and the tears, she could barely make out his muffled voice, "Why weren't we enough? Wasn't I enough Betty?"

 

Betty felt as if ice water had been poured down her back. It set a chill in her bones and put out the exasperation that had been building since this whole ordeal began. Everything clicked into place, and with it, her nose began to tingle as tears welled behind her eyes.

 

"Jug-" She began, but he cut her off.

 

"I just wanted to know Betts," his explanation was punctuated by a sniff, "I wanted to know why he chose this over me. Again and again."

Her hand moved to cover her mouth, and she fought down her own sob that threatened to free itself from her throat.  _That's not what he needs right now._

 

But she couldn't give him any good reason; it was something she honestly did not understand.

 

In that moment she hated FP. She hated him as much as she knew life was never so simple as that.

 

So instead she drew herself up and stepped over her boyfriend's crumpled form in the narrow hallway and sank down to the floor near his head, lifting it so he could rest on her lap instead of on the cold linoleum below them.

 

"Can I take this off?" she whispered, running her hand along the prongs of his rarely-absent beanie, musing how he'd managed to keep it on even after his fall.

 

She felt him nod slightly in her lap, his sobs quietened by her proximity. Gently she wrapped her hand under his neck, lifting his head for better leverage so as not to pull his hair. Moving her other hand to slip under the woven edge, Betty pushed the beanie off and placed it into the shirt pocket of his rumpled flannel, knowing he'd panic if he woke and couldn't find it. She lowered his head back into her lap but kept her hand at the base of his neck, enjoying the warmth of his bare skin.

 

That is until she felt the warm wetness seeping through her jeans just above her right knee. Quietly, tentatively she whispered into the darkness of the hallway, "He's sick Jug." Because what other reason could there be?

 

The broken boy in her arms nodded again, sniffing "I know" so quietly she almost missed it.

 

Exhaling shakily, she began combing her fingers through the soft shock on his head, watching the paleness of her own skin disappear beneath the coal blackness of his hair. For a moment she found herself mesmerized by the contrast.

 

They sat in silence for what could have been anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Jughead hadn't moved, still facing away from her but Betty noticed Jughead's breathing had evened out and the patch on her knee felt dry again, deciding that he must have drifted off.

 

Betty let out a sigh, equal measure of relief and sorrow. She moved her hand from his hair to trace the half of his face that she could see- along his brow, down to his sharp cheekbone to his full bottom lip, chapped slightly from his chewing. Lastly, her hand moved back up to outline the deep purple resting under his eye, emphasized by the shadows cast on them by the limited light.

 

Wishing she could take away their reason for being there; the pain of a family that didn't seem to care, she bent and pressed a kiss to his temple inhaling the scent of whiskey, sweat, and tobacco. It was rancid but underneath it there's him, and that recognition gave her a small sense of hope.

 

The hours and emotional toll of the day quickly started to weigh on her. As she yawned, she moves her hand back into his hair. It was the last thing she thought about before she too slipped into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

When she woke she was still slumped over but realized the warm weight in her lap was gone, panic rose in her throat, and she quickly opened her eyes. The pale light filtering through the small windows in the trailer forced her to blink rapidly, she fighting between comfort for her dry eyes and seeking out Jughead. As her vision adjusted, she registered a stiff pain in her neck from sleeping hunched over for what must have been a good few hours. She also realized the reason for her waking; Jughead is crouched next to her, a solid, warm hand resting on her shoulder, his thumb stroking softly at her neck.

 

"Betts" he began, voice croaky; her eyes rose to meet his own, and he faltered.

 

"It's ok, Jug." With those three words, the shame that had been creeping up the back of his neck shame was swiftly overwhelmed by the gratitude and love he felt for the girl who slept on the floor with him.

 

 

With only a few hours sleep and still half drunk, he was determined to at least make her more comfortable so, he slipped his arm around her back and pulled her body up, steadying her against his chest.

 

Slowly they drifted towards the back of the trailer, to his bedroom. Once there Jughead made it his mission to take care of her the way she had done with him only hours ago.

 

He stood her in the small space between his twin bed and the opposite wall while he rooted in his wardrobe for her favourite t-shirt of his. Throwing it onto the bed, he glided the coat she was still wearing off her shoulders and hung it on the back of the door while she stepped out of her flats. Once done, he came back to stand in front of her again, fingering the hem of her wrinkled white sweater, asking permission. Betty nodded and raised her arms to help him, the edges of his mouth curved up slightly, her actions so wholesome and innocent. Once she stood there in her bra, he moved south, undoing the button and fly of her jeans and skimmed them down her thighs to her knees. He thought he heard her breathing get a little quicker.

 

Telling her to sit on the edge of the bed, he pulled the jeans the rest of the way down and off her legs. Grabbing his t-shirt off the bed beside her and helped her place it over her head and get her arms through the holes of the soft material. The t-shirt skimmed just above her mid-thigh. It may have been his favourite t-shirt too.

 

He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead, but his drunken state reared its head once more making him miscalculate. As a result, Jughead ended up skimming her hairline with his lips and following through, almost falling onto her.

 

Betty chuckled, "Careful Juggie" she gently chastised him, her arms shot out to brace him, helping him to the right his balance.

 

"Sorry." He tried again and went for her cheek this time, smiling when he succeeded.

 

"Wait here," is all he said, leaving the room and Betty heard the fan of the bathroom turn on, it's yellow glow finding its way through the open door of Jughead's bedroom.

Instead of following orders, Betty tiptoed her way back to the kitchen, past where they had slept in the hall and filled another glass with water. From her purse on the couch, she retrieved a bottle of aspirin, placing them both on Jughead's side table next to the clock that reads 4:43 in an accusing red.

 

By 4:45 the bathroom light has been turned off, Betty has sat back on the bed where he left her and could hear Jughead padding towards her, even in his shoelessness.

 

A much more familiar smelling Jughead emerged from the doorway, scratching his head, making his hair stand even more on end in his alcohol and sleep heavied state. He unsheathed himself from his layers until he was just in his boxers and came to stand in front of her again, Betty smiled up at him. Cradling her cheek in one hand, his other reached up to undo the slackened elastic of her ponytail, placing it around his wrist for her later. He brought his other hand back down, so both were cupping her face, and leaned down, this time perfectly hitting his target as he brushed his lips against hers. She could taste the freshness of the toothpaste still lingering on his lips.

 

This kiss was soft, almost delicate, an apology and a thanks that, despite his literary prowess, he didn't think he'd ever be able to put into words.

 

Betty scooted back into the bed making room, lifting the comforter in an invitation to him. After he slid in, she settled into him, her head resting on his bicep, his free arm coming up to take her hand.

 

They're silent for a moment, and Jughead thought Betty might have dozed off until she speaks.

 

"Juggie," she began tentatively "Can I ask you a question?"

 

"Hmm?" he hummed, already halfway to sleep.

 

"I know you told me what you were trying to do on the roof, but how did your boot even get up there in the first place?"

 

There was a pause that even the darkness that surrounded them couldn't hide.

 

"Arch and had a disagreement" is all he offered.

 

"About what?" she pressed, intrigued by his vagueness. As far as she knew the boys were getting on better than they had been in months.

 

"Is there any way I could ask you just to take my word for it and be done with this line of inquiry?" He asked, his defeated tone betraying that he already knew the answer.

 

"I mean, you do technically owe me for the couple years you shaved off my life earlier "

 

Jughead sighed, but Betty also heard the little chuckle that came out with it.

 

There was another pause, and she realized he was weighing up whether to tell her would do more harm or good.

 

Apparently, he made a choice, as he cautiously started.

 

"Archie started asking me if I ever felt like you deserved better than me."

 

"What?!" Betty was fully awake now, pushing herself up and around to face him.

 

"Why would he say something so-, so-," she struggled to pin down the right words.

 

"Archie?" Jughead offered

 

"Cruel." She countered. "And untrue. And down-right pig-headed. You wait until seven am. That boy's going to have the worst hangover of his life. I swear, I'll-"

 

Not seeing an end in sight, Jughead decided his only option was to interrupt her.

"Well, he didn't say that exactly, but I mean, it's Arch; subtlety isn't exactly a strong character trait of his," Jughead sighed and took the hand she'd placed on his chest in his, his other still wrapped around her waist.

 

"Look, Betts, it's ok. We had it out, and we made up, one thing lead to another, and I don't know; I guess Arch wanted to make the most of Fred being gone for the weekend. Veronica's out of town too, so he broke out the good stuff," Jughead brought the hand he'd been holding to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back of her fingers, trying to quell some of her anger.

 

"All the talk of you and me and then he got drunk and started on about how great it was with his dad out the way, it just-" He cut himself off. Betty sensed where he was going but remained silent, knowing that if she interrupted him, there was a chance she wouldn't hear Jughead open up about FP again, at least for a while.

 

"It made me want to see what he was choosing over me." She couldn't be sure, but in the half-light, the tops of Jughead's cheeks appeared to darken. Betty freed her hand from his and placed the coolness of her palm against his flushed skin, her thumb gently swiping across his cheekbone.

 

"I know that it's not that simple, I do," his eyes bored into hers, and in his ardency, Betty wondered who he was trying to convince, her or himself. "But in that moment, it felt so straightforward and wrong," he sniffed, his eyes eventually straying from hers to look at where she'd begun to bite her lip.

 

"So there I was, drinking and feeling sad and more like my father than I ever wanted to feel. But then I saw your light turn on, and I saw you, through the window." Jughead tried to clear the emotion from his throat as he continued. A self-deprecating smile overtook his features as his eyes returned to hers, "I told Arch I wanted to see you but he didn't want me to leave, so he threw my boot onto the roof to keep me from going."

 

Stunned by the boy's drunken logic, Betty couldn't help but let out a small choked laugh, as she shook her head. Jughead, at the sound, found his own smile melted into something more comfortable, finally reaching his eyes.

 

Placing his index finger under her chin, he brought her face to his and revelled in the feel of her lips. She hummed against him as his tongue swiped her bottom lip, his thumb stroking her jaw. She took his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling slightly, and eliciting a groan from the back of his throat. Betty moved back resting her forehead against his, knowing where that noise usually lead them, and also how much he'd had to drink. Placing a final and sweet kiss to his lips, she sunk down, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck and inhaled. Without his layers, she could smell him above all else and a warmth spread through her right to her toes at the intimacy he allowed her.

 

Returning her head to his chest, she murmured against his skin, "trust Archie to put both his feet in his mouth and your boot on the roof in one evening."

 

At that Jughead chuckled, gently pinching her side below her ribs, causing her to giggle in turn and squirm closer into him as his embrace around her tightened.

 

In her new position, with her head on his chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart.

 

"Jughead, I love you."

 

"I know."

 

It was the most she's believed him that night, and he felt her soft smile against his skin.

 

She stretched out, half on top of him, enjoying the delicious ache tiredness has bestowed on her muscles. Jughead, in turn, weaved his hand into her hair, gently kneading at her scalp, coaxing small moans from her throat. Not long after, the moans were replaced by deep breathing as Betty drifted off on his chest.

 

"I love you too."

 

He kept his hand buried in her hair, marvelling at its silken brilliance, even in the muted blue light of the dawn. He found himself grateful for the too small bed and the too hard mattress with its threadbare sheets. But most of all, he praised God for the girl who shared it all with him and didn't mind. It was last thought that clung on in the stupor, before he surrendered to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please comment if you have any thoughts/ ideas/ ways to improve!
> 
> (I swear writing and posting this whole thing felt like sending a risky text to a crush and waiting for a reply.)


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